


The Great British Blog Off

by zigostia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson's Blog, M/M, Sherlock Holmes's Blog, Sherlock's Violin, drunk john is a cinnamon bun, half the word count is names and timestamps, hardcore crack, oops did i say slightly, sherlock is a child at heart, slightly cracky, very slight mention of mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigostia/pseuds/zigostia
Summary: John has made the foolish mistake of challenging me to a blog-off.





	1. Plain Penne Pasta

“Here,” John says, tossing something over to Sherlock.

Sherlock catches it in one hand without taking his eyes off the laptop screen. _Show off,_ John thinks, and then, _is that my laptop?_

Of course it is, and John regrets not chucking the Rubik’s Cube straight at his flatmate’s head. He had just changed the password that morning, for god’s sake—he can't even remember what he had changed it into.

Leaving the task of typing to his right hand, Sherlock runs his left thumb over an edge of the cube. “So Mrs. Hudson’s given up already. I suppose she prefers Sudoku.”

“Yeah, well,” John says, “it’s yours, now.”

Sherlock places the puzzle down and returns both hands back to the keyboard. “John, I have no time for such anencephalus activities.”

“You don’t have a case right now,” John says, pointedly ignoring the word _anencephalus._ Honestly.

“I’m sure I'll manage.”

John wants to remind him that the last time they had gone twenty-four hours without a case, Sherlock had taken apart and reassembled their kettle so that it spewed fire from the spout, mixed every single chemical they had (and that was a _lot)_ into one test tube and then threw it out the window because it started eating through the glass, and spray-painted on their wall _BORED, DULL, PLEBEIAN,_ and _JOHN_ (with a circle around _JOHN,_ which was probably the nicest compliment Sherlock had ever given), and had gotten halfway through a chemical structure of cocaine before John could banish him, sulking, to his room.

Sherlock is still typing. John narrows his eyes and peers over his shoulder.

“Oi!”

Scowling slightly but knowing better than to struggle (the last time Sherlock had resisted, they had ripped the laptop—which had been Sherlock's—right into two. It was so absurd that John couldn’t even get mad), Sherlock allows John to grab hold of the laptop and access the damage.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Sherlock crosses his arms and huffs. “Your writing is meandering and dull with terrible prose. You can't just use page breaks when you can't think of a transition. There were no streetlamps, and they certainly weren't sparkling. And you don’t even know how to raise your eyebrow.”

John skims the new-and-revised version of his latest post and tries to remember how to undo.

“John,” Sherlock says, “do I have glitter in my eye? Has someone nonconsensually stuck ice shards into them?”

“It’s a simile, Sherlock. Hyperbole. _I am so angry I could throw you out the window._ Except that’s not a very good example, seeing as it might just come true.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

His eyes dart over to their laptop (John realises with a bit of despair that his mind automatically refers to it as _their_ laptop and not _his)_ and he scowls again. “Do people actually read your blog? Are you sure it isn’t just Mycroft making people refresh your page over and over again?”

“Why would Mycroft do that?” John says, exasperated.

“Mycroft has many ulterior motives.”

“Are you sure he’s not doing that with _your_ blog?” John grins. “Look, people do read my blog. And they like it. You’re overly-critical.”

“The readers of your blog are simple-minded and dull.” Sherlock scowls a little. “And your blog is stupid.”

“You’re such a child,” John groans, but he's laughing. “Like you could do any better.”

-+-+-+-

The personal blog of Dr. John. H. Watson  
9 February  
**The Science of Deduction**

John has made the foolish mistake of assuming that I cannot be a better blogger. This mistake is further accentuated by the fact that he is at best mediocre at this task. I shall prove him wrong with ease. 

If there are, in fact, any readers of this blog, I advise you to make this your last visit, and replace this dreadful website with that of my own, at the Science of Deduction.

—Sherlock Holmes

P.S. John cannot raise an eyebrow nor furrow them. His eyebrows are very lacking in dexterity. Just thought everyone should know.

 

**Comments**

Finally.

 **theimprobableone**  9 February 14:15

 

Oh, John… what have you done?

 **Greg Lestrade**  9 February 14:21

 

This is gonna be amazing! Getting myself some popcorn asap

 **Harry Watson**  9 February 14:24

 

John, don’t worry. I think your blog posts are all quite lovely.

 **Mrs Hudson**  9 February 14:51

 

And I can’t raise my eyebrow, either.

 **Mrs Hudson**  9 February 14:51

 

everyone please go read John’s blog posts that Sherlock ““fixed””

 **guest**  9 February 15:14

 

Sherlock, what have you done to my previous blog posts? Again?

 **John Watson**  9 February 15:20

 

I fixed them. Again.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  9 February 15:20

 

Right, I’m withdrawing your laptop privileges.

 **John Watson**  9 February 15:22

\-------

**UPDATED blog post at 15:20**

  
P.P.S. He also doesn’t seem to know that I have a phone.

 

**Comments**

How’s the Rubik’s Cube going?

 **John Watson**  9 February 15:21

 

Fine.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  9 February 15:21

-+-+-+-

They don’t talk about it until later that night, when John’s cooking up a pot of penne pasta because they must have had takeout for two weeks in a row, now, and he didn't think he could ever get sick of curry but here he was.

Sherlock is in the other room, typing up a storm, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Get your feet off the table,” John says, and then, “What are you writing?”

“Blog,” Sherlock says without moving.

“I told you, your feet—” On his tiptoes, John scans the shelves. "Where's the tomato paste?”

“Oh. I needed to test the acidity.”

John shuts the cabinet. He looks down at the bubbling pot on the stove. “Well then. Is there any ground beef?”

“There is a cow leg in the fridge and a meat grinder in the back of the cupboard.”

John pauses. “The same meat grinder—”

“Yes, John, the same. I washed it afterwards, and it’s all just meat, anyways, why should it matter?”

“Um. No.”

“It only just tastes like chicken, if you’re curious.”

 _“Oh—”_ A beef bolognese sauce suddenly doesn’t seem very appetizing. “Thanks for that. I wasn’t curious.”

John strains the cloudy water down the sink, trying very hard not to think about chicken and trying to remember where the conversation had started before it ran off on him.

“So this blog thing,” he says.

“Blog-off.”

“Are we really calling it that?”

“It’s what your readers are calling it. The blog off of Baker Street.”

“And we’re really doing this? Bit—childish, don’t you think?”

“You’re just saying that because you know you’ll lose.”

John chuckles as he plates up the pasta. “Right. We’re really doing this.” He puts the pot in the sink and fills it with a bit of water, and then leaves it there (to _soak_ , he tells himself). “What are the stakes?”

Sherlock hums. “I get to do an experiment on you when I win.”

“Hey, hold on—when? Are you serious?”

“You get to choose your side of the wager.” John can feel Sherlock’s gaze from all the way across two rooms. “Or are you doubting your ability to have a better blog than me?”

“That isn’t—you can’t just—” John has a nagging voice in his head that wants to fling the pasta into Sherlock’s hair. “You know what? Fine.”

In the other room, Sherlock smiles.

John makes his way over. “If _I_ win, you’ll have to…” He glances down at the plates in his hand. “Eat three meals a day. Three full, healthy meals.”

Sherlock opens his mouth, but John’s not done. “And you’ll have to be in bed by midnight. _Sleeping._ And no violin after ten.”

Sherlock opens his mouth again. John's on a roll. “And you have to clean up after all your experiments. And you have to start closing the toothpaste cap. And replacing the toilet roll. And you can’t steal my clothes anymore. And you—”

“For god’s sake, John!” Sherlock snaps, closing their _(their,_ again, the despair) laptop. “That is seven things, not one.”

“Seven things that you should already be doing and shouldn’t be part of a bet in the first place.”

“One thing,” Sherlock says.

“Why? It shouldn't matter. I thought you were sure you would win?”

Sherlock glares. John's look of innocence dissolves away and reveals a impish grin.

“The stakes on both sides must be equal regardless of who will win,” Sherlock states stubbornly.

John rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” He chews on his lip. “You have to get eight hours of sleep, daily. For a fortnight.”

Sherlock leers, and John decides that he made the right decision.

“There we go, then,” he says. “We’ve got our stakes down.”

“Fine,” Sherlock grouses. “But there are more technicalities to discuss.”

“Over dinner, then.”

“Not hungry.”

“Is it too late to change my side of the wager?”

Sherlock snorts. John sighs, and prods at his pasta.

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. “Is that…”

“Yep.” John takes a forkful. “This is just plain penne, because the butter is rancid, you used up all the tomato paste, and the meat grinder is out of the question—whether it tastes like chicken or not.”

Sherlock's eyes narrow. He grabs a noodle and holds it between his fingers.

After studying it for a while, he pops it into his mouth.

“You didn’t even salt the water.” He takes another—and then picks up his fork.

John watches with amazement. “You’re kidding me.”

Sherlock crosses his legs on the sofa and takes the plate into his lap.

“I’ll never know all your secrets,” John murmurs, watching him.

Sherlock smiles through a mouthful of plain penne pasta.

-+-+-+-

The Science of Deduction  
10 February  
**Rules**  

One week, starting now. The blog with the greatest hit count wins. I have created a special firewall for both blogs. We are both allowed to post as much as we wish. Neither of us will advertise our blog. Readers are allowed to spread awareness through social media and word of mouth.

If I win, I will have John's full consent to perform an experiment on him. If (by some incredible syzygy) John wins, I will be forced to endure eight hours of sleep for a fortnight.

I’m counting on you.

 

**Comments**

Who the hell formatted this website? looks like bloody 2009

 **ripmyeyes**  10 February 10:26

 

What’s syzygy?

 **Harry Watson** 10 February 10:42

  

I have an inkling about that experiment. Do be careful, Doctor Watson.

 **Mycroft Holmes** 10 February 11:14

 

IS THAT MYCROFT HOLMES??!?!

 **Jacob Sowersby** 10 February 11:24

  

Mycroft you’re here too! This is great!

 **Harry Watson** 10 February 11:52

 

Can’t say I’m not alarmed.

 **John Watson** 10 February 12:05

 

It won't be much different to the usual experiments.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 12:05

 

Yes. Exactly.

 **John Watson**  10 February 12:05

 

How was I supposed to know you're allergic to bees?

 **Sherlock Holmes**  10 February 12:05

 

You're Sherlock Holmes. Figure it out.

 **John Watson**  10 February 12:05

 

Oi, you two are blogging at a crime scene.

 **Greg Lestrade** 10 February 12:06

 

Commenting on a blog post at a crime scene. And you’re doing it too.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  10 February 12:07

 

I call blogging about this one first.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 12:07

 

You can’t do that.

 **John Watson** 10 February 12:07

\------

**UPDATED blog post at 12:08**

  
rule youcant calldibs ehffda

\------

**UPDATED blog post at 12:15**

  
Both of us are allowed to blog about cases.

 

**Comments**

Sherlock, you’d better solve this one fast.

 **Greg Lestrade** 10 February 12:18

 

oh, no… what did they do?

 **guest** 10 February 12:19

 

None of your business.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 12:21

 

You don't want to know.

 **John Watson** 10 February 12:21

 

you know that sounds like you two shagged, right

 **guest** 10 February 12:21

 

Don’t be ridiculous. Sherlock would never do that.

 **theimprobableone** 10 February 12:21

 

Four people commenting on a blog post at a crime scene, Lestrade.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 12:22

 

Wait, who?

 **Greg Lestrade** 10 February 12:22

 

EVERYBODY GIVE ME YOUR PHONES NOW

 **Sally Donovan** 10 February 12:22

 

f

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 12:22

 

Change it to “eight hours of sleep, _every night,_ for a fortnight” please.

 **John Watson** 10 February 18:25

 

oh, clever.

 **theimprobableone** 10 February 18:51

 

Aaand now he’s sulking.

 **John Watson** 10 February 19:02

 

I solved the Rubik’s Cube.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 10 February 19:19

-+-+-+-

John raises an eyebrow at the object proudly and deliberately displayed on the coffee table, right next to Sherlock's bare feet.

“You solved it? By yourself?”

“Of course."

Picking up the cube and giving it a twist, John finds the blocks jammed and loose.

A further twist results in the entire thing falling apart, small pieces tumbling out of his hands and onto the floor.

Laughing, John throws the cube (what's left of it, anyways) at Sherlock, who catches it deftly, haphazardly tosses it somewhere off to the side, and glares a little. “What now?”

“Come on.” John crosses his arms. “Really?”

At Sherlock’s silence, John sighs.

“Sherlock, taking it apart and putting it back together is not solving it.”

“The Rubik’s Cube is reverted back to six solid coloured faces. That is not _cheating,”_ Sherlock mutters.

And John just _looks_ at him, looks at Sherlock with his stupid scowl and withering glare and the pale flush dawning upon his cheeks, and he can’t help it—he giggles.

_“It’s not!”_

John laughs. “Don’t worry. S’how I do it, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the Rubik's Cube drabble buried in the bottom of my Drive, and revising it quickly spiralled into this. The story is finished—I'm posting a chapter (or two) each day :)


	2. Puerile and Ludicrous Minds

The Science of Deduction  
10 February

I will take suggestions for naming this blog-off.

-+-+-+-

Sherlock squints at the laptop screen—a brand new, top-of-the-line model that arrived right on their doorstep that morning. Sherlock practically pounced on it.

And John’s fine with that, really. Just because Sherlock’s the reason the old laptop screen has a crack down the middle and a permanently sticky keyboard and periodically beeps once in a while and starts to smoke when used for longer than an hour—yeah, okay.

But either John is just really rubbish at guessing or Sherlock’s passwords are incredibly cryptic (he’s leaning for the latter—the hint for the password was _'stop trying to guess my password'._ In a fit of desperation, John tried that. It wasn't the password), because John sits in his chair and types on his cracked, sticking, beeping laptop, trying to ignore the way it's burning a hole through his pants.

"For god's sake, John," Sherlock speaks up, "stop complaining."

"I—I didn't even say anything!"

"Non-verbal cues. You keep wincing and shifting and glaring. It's distracting."

“Then stop looking."

"If you're so picky about your laptop, just buy another one."

"I can't. Blew my budget on a certain pair of noise-cancelling headphones."

Sherlock ignores the pointed look John gives him. Oh, so now he can stop looking.

“Why is everyone commenting Bloggy McBlog Face?” Sherlock abruptly says.

“Sorry, what?”

“On my blog.”

“I’m not going on your blog. Every little counts.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. And I’ve checked your blog twelve times since this started and you’ve only checked mine for ten.”

“I’m still not doing it.”

“Fine. Come here.”

When John closes his laptop, he can very nearly hear it sigh with relief, along with his legs, which he’s surprised aren’t on fire when he lifts his laptop off them and stands up. On slippers that he’s grown used to wearing—after miscellaneous puddles of mysterious substances, scattered thumbtacks, and, in one occasion, ten thousand ladybugs (yes, really)—he pads over to Sherlock’s armchair.

Sherlock is scrolling through pages of comments, eighty percent of which read _bloggy mcblog face_ in one way or another.

John laughs. Sherlock repeats his noise of confusion and disgust, with a little more of the latter this time.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“You really don’t know, do you." John smiles, even though Sherlock can't see. "It’s just—something on the internet. A joke, I suppose, yeah.”

“How ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffs. “My original readers would never do such a thing. John, your readers have infiltrated and seeped their puerile and ludicrous minds into my blog.”

“I’m definitely quoting that on my blog.” John straightens. “See how they like that.”

-+-+-+-

The blog of John. H. Watson  
11 February  
**The Baker Street Blog Off**

So. This is a thing, now, apparently.

The rules are simple: the person with the most hits on their blog in one week wins. If I win, Sherlock will have to get eight hours of sleep, DAILY, for two weeks. Yes, I realise that doesn’t seem to be beneficial to me, but if you heard Sherlock’s middle-of-the-night violin sessions you would understand. If Sherlock wins, I will let him perform an experiment on me. Yes, I realise that is extremely dangerous and may most likely cause permanent damage. So you understand how important it is that he does not win.

P.S. Sherlock says that you have all "infiltrated and seeped [your] puerile and ludicrous minds into [his] blog.” Ta.

 

**Comments**

Can’t say I’m not curious about that experiment.

 **Greg Lestrade** 11 February 9:16

 

Neither can I, but just because I’m curious doesn’t mean I’m willing.

 **John Watson** 11 February 9:17

  

It won’t be physically nor mentally harmful. Probably.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 11 February 9:19

 

Shouldn’t have said that last bit, mate.

 **John Watson** 11 February 9:20

\------

**UPDATED blog post at 10:04**

~~So. Yes. This is a thing, now, apparently.~~

~~The rules are simple: the person with the most hits on their blog, starting now and ending one week later, wins. If I win, Sherlock will have to get eight hours of sleep, DAILY, for two weeks. Yes, I realise that doesn’t seem to be beneficial to me, but if you heard Sherlock’s midnight violin sessions, you would understand. If Sherlock wins, I will let him perform an experiment on me. Yes, I realise that is extremely dangerous and may (most likely) cause permanent damage. So you understand how important it is that he does not win.~~

~~Sherlock coded a special firewall to prevent any bugs or bots in the system. I know I’m taking a risk by putting my faith in him. I really hope I don’t regret it.~~

~~P.S. Sherlock says that you have all "infiltrated and seeped (your) puerile and ludicrous minds into (his) blog.” Ta.~~

thescienceofdeduction.co.uk

\------

**Comments**

SHERLOCK

 **John Watson** 11 February 10:12

 

John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 11 February 10:12

 

Better add some more rules, John.

 **Greg Lestrade** 11 February 10:16

-+-+-+-

The Science of Deduction  
11 February  
**Rules**

  
**UPDATED blog post at 10:24**

Both of us are only allowed to post on our own blogs.

 

**Comments**

Thank you.

 **John Watson** 11 February 10:25

 

Pah.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 11 February 10:26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter today, more of a transition.


	3. Swan Lake

The blog of John. H. Watson  
12 February  
**The Swan and the Sapphire**

Sherlock never appreciated holidays, and I’ve come to realise that he especially despises Valentine’s Day. It doesn’t come as a surprise. Something along the lines of “marketing scam for hopeless hedonists” and "red-pink-purple _everywhere"_ and "that's not even what a real heart looks like". I told him about the origin of the holiday and he said it was just further proof that romantic entanglement was a weakness. It _had_ gotten St. Valentine killed, after all. But I digress.

Now, I’m glad to say that Mr. Stren had not fallen into the same position as St. Valentine. He is alive and well, and very happily engaged as of yesterday. 

It started when

**Actually. You know what?**

I’ve seen the hit counts. Sherlock’s not the only one who can draw deductions. None of you really care about the cases. I know what you really want—and I have it today.

All you need to know about this case is that it involved a lake, a sapphire, and a very big, very angry swan who had swallowed said sapphire. And Sherlock, who was determined to get the sapphire back. Who vehemently and rather rudely turned down my help. And me, who had the foresight to turn on the camera on my phone. 

It’s not even the full video—the rest is lovely, lovely blackmail.

P.S. Don’t worry. I filmed horizontally.

 

_[video attachment]_

 

 **Comments**  

Thank you, John.

 **Mycroft Holmes** 12 February 12:20

 

Ta.

 **John Watson** 12 February 12:20

 

Check your email, Lestrade.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 12:20

 

Sherlock!! You fought that goose off like a champ!

 **Jacob Sowersby** 12 February 12:26

 

It's a swan. Not a goose.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 12:30

 

I think Sherlock was pretty graceful considering the circumstances.

 **theimprobableone** 12 February 12:34

 

Graceful? He looks like someone shoved fire ants up his arse.

 **Sally Donovan** 12 February 12:35

 

Looks like opposites do attract. Or, did, anyways.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 12:35

 

What are you talking about now, freak?

 **Sally Donovan**  12 February 12:35

 

Oi, both of you. Play nice.

 **Greg Lestrade** 12 February 12:36

 

And I don't see anything in my email.

 **Greg Lestrade** 12 February 12:37

 

~~Nevermind. I'll show you in person.~~

~~**Sherlock Holmes**  12 February 12:38~~ _Comment deleted_

 

It was nothing. Forget it.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 12:38

 

~~Really? Lestrade has the right to see it.~~

~~**Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 12:28~~ _Comment deleted_

 

Hi, Mycroft. While you're at it, can you restore my old blog posts, too?

 **John Watson** 12 February 12:39

 

So the fact that someone tried to drown me isn’t important enough to be featured on your blog?

 **Mr. Stren** 12 February 1:37

 

Oh, I’m so sorry—I was planning on typing it out on another blog post later on!

 **John Watson** 12 February 1:40

 

I’ll forgive you if you provide that video in HD.

 **Mr. Stren** 12 February 1:45

 

John, you broke a law during the case. I’ll let it slide if you send me the full video.

 **Greg Lestrade** 12 February 1:52

 

John, I’ll send Sherlock THAT VIDEO if you don’t send me the full video.

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:01

 

Wait, what?

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:02

 

What video?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:04

 

Oh, wouldn’t you like to know… it involves a uni party, a dare, and a John with very bad decision making skills ;)

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:05

 

Oh, and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:05

 

What the hell, Harry! How do you even have that video?!

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:05

 

Oh, please. It's practically famous in our uni circle.

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:06

 

Send me the video of John, Harriet.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:07

 

DONT

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:07

 

Harry, if you send him the video I will show Clara the one with mum pulling gummy worms out of your nose while you’re crying

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:08

 

JOHN!!!

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:09

 

Harry. Send it to me.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:09

 

I'll show Sherlock the one where you're making out with the stone lion!

 **Harry Watson**  12 February 2:09

 

I'll show Clara the one with you lip syncing to Britney Spears. Terribly, I might add.

 **John Watson**  12 February 2:09

 

I'll show Sherlock the one where you tried to turn the football goal post into a giant slingshot!

 **Harry Watson**  12 February 2:09

 

Go ahead. That was pretty cool, actually. Except for the broken bones.

 **John Watson**  12 February 2:09

 

Sorry to interrupt, but is Sherlock wearing anything under his coat?

 **guest** 12 February 2:10

 

… No. The answer is no.

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:10

 

SEND ME THE VIDEO

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:11

 

Wow. Should Clara be jealous?

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:12

 

YOURE the jealous one

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:12

 

Sherlock, are you out of fresh laundry?

 **Mrs Hudson** 12 February 2:13

 

No. It was warm that day.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:14

 

So, naturally, you decided to wear nothing underneath a thick, dark, heavy coat.

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:14

 

Naturally.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:14

 

sorry, John, but could you send me the full video? high quality if possible... it's for a friend xxx

 **Molly Hooper** 12 February 2:16

 

…

 **Greg Lestrade** 12 February 2:18

 

sorry, what?xxxx

 **Molly Hooper** 12 February 2:19

 

OMG I THINK I SAW A NIPPLE

 **sherlockedforever** 12 February 2:24

 

You guys should all respect Sherlock’s privacy.

 **theimprobableone** 12 February 2:28

 

JOHN. THE VIDEO. OR I LEAK YOURS

 **Harry Watson** 12 February 2:29

 

SHUT UP, HARRY

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:30

 

buggering hell how do I delete comments

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:33

 

Promise not to share the full video and I’ll help you.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:33

 

Fine.

 **John Watson** 12 February 2:34

 

Bedroom.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 12 February 2:35

 

oh damn looks like john's getting some

 **guest** 12 February 2:36

 

_Comments are no longer permitted on this post._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeah. Kinda ran off on me there.


	4. Twat

The Science of Deduction  
13 February

  
_[video attachment]_

 

Sorry, John. It’s only fair.

 

**Comments**

FJDKLAJFLDKFJDSK

 **sherlockedforever** 13 February 9:15

 

damn!

 **guest** 13 February 9:16

 

That’s payback for you.

 **theimprobableone** 13 February 9:17

 

John… is this why you never have more than two pints?

 **Greg Lestrade** 13 February 9:18

 

Sherlock, I will willingly drink fire ants if you give me a full, hd version.

 **Sally Donovan** 13 February 9:19

 

Hmm.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:20

 

Count me in. Where can I buy fire ants?

 **Greg Lestrade** 13 February 9:21

 

oh my god

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:21

 

Didn’t you say you weren’t going to visit my blog anymore?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:22

 

oH MY GOD

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:22

 

SHERLOCK HOLMES

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:23

 

DELETE THIS RIGHT NOW

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:23

 

No.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:23

 

SHERLOCK

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:23

 

I SWEAR TO GOD

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:23

 

John!! This is what you get for not sending me YOUR video! :P

 **Harry Watson** 13 February 9:24

 

oh, so it’s MY FAULT

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:24

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:25

 

I didn’t know you were that flexible, John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:26

 

oh great bloody hell

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:26

 

I think you look very good xxx

 **Molly Hooper** 13 February 9:27

 

Oh, there you are. Does your friend need a full, high-quality version of this video as well?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:28

 

omg i think i saw TWO nipples

 **sherlockedforever** 13 February 9:31

 

Not much of an accomplishment. They’re hardly difficult to spot.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:31

 

jesus christ

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:31

 

Sherlock, are you sure John is fine with you posting this?

 **Mrs Hudson** 13 February 9:32

 

Ah, perfect. You can give John some tips.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:32

 

sherlock bloody holmes as soon as I'm done with this patient you'll have your fucking payback

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:33

\------

**UPDATED blog post at 9:54**

~~_[video attachment]_ ~~

~~Sorry, John. It’s only fair.~~

 

SHERLOCK HOLMES IS A FUCKING TWATNFJbhfj;G

54UG  
hfs

 

**Comments**

You need to clip your fingernails.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:55

 

Never. How else am I supposed to defend myself?

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:55

 

You have a gun.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:55

 

You're right, I should just shoot you instead.

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:56

 

You're also military trained. And have experience in rugby.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:56

 

So, I should tackle you instead?

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:56

 

It would sting less.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:57

 

Oh, wait, there's blood underneath my nails.

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:57

 

I wonder why.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 13 February 9:57

 

Okay, I'm coming downstairs.

 **John Watson** 13 February 9:57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had too much fun writing this...


	5. Sleep

The blog of John H. Watson  
14 February  
**Sleep**

I'm completely exhausted and can't be bothered to think of a good title at the moment. Sorry.

Apparently, Sherlock needs to “think”. Apparently, that means wailing it out on the violin.

Thank god for soundproofed walls—the neighbours would go insane. I’m pretty sure I have.

-+-+-+-

John types a couple more words, stares at the screen, and then rapidly taps his finger over the backspace key.

He doesn’t turn on the light, because that would be admitting defeat. Not that it would matter. He wasn’t sleeping anytime soon either way.

For a man who _could_ play like an angel, Sherlock certainly didn’t. A satanist, more like. If the Devil had a burning (ha) hatred for violins.

John briefly considers earplugs (again), but quickly deletes the idea (again), remembering how he had once tried (a certain pair of) noise-cancelling headphones, only to have Sherlock 1. burst through the door, 2. rip a screeching pigeon from his hair, and 3. stuff it down the back of John's shirt.

A lot of screaming later, Sherlock, covered in pigeon droppings and tiny scratches, had very calmly explained that he had been trying to build a beehive in their chimney (which led to a whole ‘nother story that was much longer, much more elaborate, and somehow even more bizarre) when he had discovered the nest, which had reminded him that he wanted to determine the different tastes of various eggs.

Absolutely none of that explanation explained anything, and definitely not why Sherlock felt the need to shove a bird down John's shirt, but before John could say anything Sherlock had ran off to take a shower and afterwards played the violin for two hours until John made him a cup of tea. It was as much of an apology (and a forgiveness) as either of them would manage.

(Sherlock had made scrambled eggs that night. John didn’t eat any.)

The day immediately after that, Sherlock had called out for John, ostensibly, forty-seven times in the span of eight minutes. Then he emailed him twelve times. And called him on his phone for eight. And spammed two entire pages of comments on his blog.

When John had felt the presence behind him, it was too late—Sherlock plucked the headphones off John’s ears and swiftly exited the room. He never saw them again.

And they were bloody expensive, too.

John massages his temples. Christ, what is his life?

Downstairs, the unholy sounds persist. You’d think he’d be used to it by now. It was like Sherlock was trying to play as terribly as possible and kept getting better at it.

The—it can’t be called music—what did violins ever do to him?—the _noises,_ the blasted sounds, twist and snarl and shriek, stabbing straight at John’s nerves.

He finally gives in, glancing up to the top right corner of the laptop screen.

It’s 3:51. In the fucking morning.

John slams the laptop cover shut and kicks off his duvet.

Screech, squeak, snarl, and scratch. John stands up. The floorboard creaks.

The violin stutters.

John takes a few steps. The violin stops.

John sits back down. A single vibrato rings through the air.

John lies back down and drags a hand down his face. The violin slows, uncertain, and then plays the first few notes of a soft melody.

John can’t help it—he laughs. A note squeaks, out of place.

As he stomps down the stairs, the music picks up, gaining confidence, and _how is it possible_ for music to sound smug?

Sherlock stands on the coffee table, smiling at John and looking infuriatingly pleased.

John tries to speak several times before succeeding.

“Do you always have to _think_ in the middle of the night?”

“Just sometimes.”

“Sherlock, just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean you have to keep me awake, too.”

“It’s better with an audience.”

“What?”

A slight purse of Sherlock’s lips. “The violin.”

“Well, would you mind doing it— _not_ at four in the morning?”

Sherlock huffs and draws out another noise from the strings. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I can play calming music."

“But.” John realises that he has no rebuttal. Sherlock grins.

Bastard. This was definitely his plan all along.

John sighs. “Next time, you can just tell me.”

“Right. Yes. Good.” Sherlock flutters a hand at John’s chair. “You can sit down.”

One second. Two. Three.

Against his better judgement (which is frankly nonexistent at this point—survival tactic, really, when you live with Sherlock Holmes), John sits down.

Sherlock settles the bow onto the strings and starts to play.

John won’t pretend he’s a music snob. He doesn’t know the names of most of the pieces Sherlock plays, he once fell asleep at an orchestra Sherlock had dragged him to (in his defense, it was three hours long and he had gotten all but a few measly hours of sleep the night before, because of _this same goddamn reason_ —oh, the irony), and his proudest accomplishment is knowing how to pronounce _Tchaikovsky_ and spelling it correctly once in his life.

But even he can tell that this is different. The notes are rich, round, and smooth, the pitch unerringly perfect. It’s slow, sweet, and savouring. The tune burrows itself into John’s memory, makes a home there, and he already knows it’s going to be a favourite.

Sherlock glides through the music with a comfortable, easy grace. His eyes are closed; his fingers slide along the neck of the violin with an intrinsic intuition, a perfect muscle memory. Press and release, switch and slide. He holds the instrument like it’s an extension to his limb, like he throws himself into the music, wanders and gets lost amongst the notes.

He really is breathtaking, and the music is so achingly gorgeous, that when Sherlock opens his eyes, John forgets that he’s staring.

Neither of them look away.

Then it's over. Abruptly the tune ends, with a twisted note that doesn’t resound through the whole of the song. It lingers through the room like it doesn’t believe it's over, waiting for someone to pick up from where it dropped away.

Sherlock exhales and draws the violin away from his chin, letting the bow fall. There’s a tightness to his features, a flicker of irritation.

“That was beautiful,” John says in a low voice, still hearing the remnants of the last note. It doesn’t seem right, that it had to end so soon.

“It’s unfinished,” Sherlock mutters, placing the violin back into the case. “I was hoping you’d help.”

“Me?”

“In your presence, I tend to compose better.”

John tilts his head. “So that’s why you wanted me to come.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock wiggles his fingers and glares at them. “I still couldn’t find the ending.”

“Oh.” John drums his own fingers on his thighs. He can’t help but feel a little guilty.

“It’s not your fault,” Sherlock says. “Even the best conductor loses its charge once in a while.”

John isn’t sure if that was supposed to make him feel better. He stands up. “Back to bed, then.”

Sherlock sighs. “If you must.”

“And I mean you, too.” John crosses his arms. “I don’t care whether or not I’ve won that blog-off yet, but you need to get some rest.”

Sherlock sniffs. John glares.

“I’m not tired,” Sherlock says.

“Bullshit,” John says.

“I don’t need to sleep.”

John smiles without mirth. “Also bullshit.”

Sherlock mirrors John, crossing his arms and huffing. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“That’s more like it," John says. “Too bad—you’re still going to.”

Sherlock raises his chin. “Make me.”

John fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Just go to sleep, Sherlock. I won't even make you admit that you’re tired.”

Sherlock takes in a long, deep breath and then lets it all out in a huge sigh, like John just told him to scale the bloody London Eye. 

“You’d get along fantastically with my niece,” John comments. “She's fifteen. She's...” (What had Harry said? Goth? Emo? Punk? Scene? Fifteen and invincible, that was for sure.) "Difficult."

Sherlock snorts. “I wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same room with her.”

John wants to say that it would be easy, really—all he'd have to do would be to play an open G string on the violin—but Sherlock is wholly inept at this sort of thing, so, instead, he says, “You can’t stand being in the same room with anyone.”

“No,” Sherlock says. “Not you.”

A burst of warmth unfurls in John’s chest and trickles through his limbs.

“I can’t tell if that says something about me. Or if it’s good or bad, for that matter.”

Sherlock smiles.

“Hey.” John shifts gears, his voice coaxing. “C’mon. Go to bed.”

Sherlock pouts. John tries not to notice that he finds it absolutely adorable.

“Fine,” Sherlock grumbles, too quickly to match his tone. John tries not to smile and fails.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

“Night,” Sherlock mumbles, already turning for his bedroom.

John watches him walk out of the room. He sighs, a quick, exasperated puff of air, and then heads back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take this brief lil interlude sandwiched between pure, unadulterated crack. Now that's a shift in mood, eh? Happy Valentine's Day!


	6. All of the Above

The Science of Deduction  
14 February

Q and A. Go.

 

**Comments**

 

**Is John ticklish?**

**guest**  14 February 14:59

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 15:01

 

Is Sherlock ticklish?

 **John Watson** 14 February 15:03

 

Yes.

 **John Watson** 14 February 15:08

 

You really do need to cut your nails.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 15:09

 

Nope.

 **John Watson** 14 February 15:10

 

I’ll do it for you when you’re sleeping.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 15:10

 

I think I would wake up.

 **John Watson** 14 February 15:10

 

I’ll drug you and clip your nails while you’re unconscious.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 15:10

 

I’d laugh if this was anyone else. Please don’t.

 **John Watson** 14 February 15:11

 

 

**Has there been any new cases?**

**theimprobableone** 14 February 14:32

 

You know there hasn’t been.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 15:11

 

 

 **What's the experiment you want to do on John?**  

 **Sally Donovan** 14 February 14:40

 

You’ll find out.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 17:36

 

Should John be worried?

 **Greg Lestrade** 14 February 17:41

 

No. It’s relatively safe.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 17:52

 

I should be worried.

 **John Watson** 14 February 17:52

 

 

**Do you really have a sock index? Does John touch it?**

**sherlockedforever** 14 February 16:12

 

Yes and yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 17:55

 

Do you touch/steal/take/"borrow, it wasn't your fault you weren't listening or even in the bloody country"/unravel/spill chemicals on/light on fire/use as a towel John’s clothing?

 **John Watson** 14 February 17:57

 

Yes. Yes he does.

 **John Watson** 14 February 17:57

 

Your first comment is grammatically incorrect.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 17:58

 

You used my favourite blue jumper as a towel.

 **John Watson** 14 February 17:59

 

We were out of towels.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 17:59

 

A fucking towel, Sherlock.

 **John Watson**  14 February 17:59

 

Oh, I'm sorry I mopped up the spill on the bathroom floor that you didn't tell me was fucking acid and ate through all our towels.

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:00

 

John, you should wear Sherlock’s coat in retaliation.

 **guest** 14 February 18:08

 

Please. That coat is his lifeline. Sherlock doesn't let anyone _touch_ that coat, much less wear it.

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:12

 

 

**Are you two a thing?**

**Harry Watson** 14 February 16:31

 

No. We are two separate things.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:14

 

 

**Sherlock, have you ever made a song for John?**

**Molly Hooper** 14 February 16:51

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:15

 

Can you share it with us? xxx

 **Molly Hooper** 14 February 18:42

 

No.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 18:51

 

 

**What’s your go-to dinner?**

**Jacob Sowersby**  14 February 16:54

 

Penne pasta. No sauce. Nothing. We're having it right now.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:16

 

What, really?

 **Greg Lestrade** 14 February 18:33

 

You’d think it’d be caviar or frog legs or something, the posh git.

 **Sally Donovan** 14 February 18:42

 

 

**Do you still follow John to his dates?**

**Sarah Sawyer** 14 February 17:12

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:17

 

Yes.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:17

 

When you’re trying to “get off”?

 **Sarah Sawyer** 14 February 19:01

 

 

**Can _you_ raise your eyebrow?**

**deducethis** 14 February 17:55

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:18

 

I can, too, actually, you know.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:18

 

No, you can’t.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:19

 

You’re just squinting one eye and opening the other really wide.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:19

 

Okay. I can’t raise my eyebrow but I can glare pretty well.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:20

 

 

**Happy valentine's day, boys! Done or doing anything special today?**

**Mrs Hudson**  14 February 17:59

 

Ta, Mrs. H. Nothing much, to be honest. My dating life is, as you know, rather rough.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:21

 

You somehow always manage to choose the most boring women on the continent.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:21

 

Sorry, three continents.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:21

 

I'm not even gonna ask how you know about that. And it's not my fault you think everyone's boring.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:21

 

I don't think you're boring.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:22

 

Most of the time. About seventy percent of the time. Fifty when you have another one of your boring dates. Thirty when you and your boring date are having boring, boring sex.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:23

 

Right, it was sweet at first but then you ruined it.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:23

 

 

**Who does the chores?**

**Mike Stamford** 14 February 18:01

 

John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:23

 

Do you really have to ask? Me. Always me.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:23

 

I did the dishes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:23

 

What, once? Washed a spoon, did you?

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:24

 

It's not like you have to do it.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:24

 

Yeah, like that one time I stopped to see how long it would take until you gave in and you ignored it for two weeks and there were fucking maggots in the sink?

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:24

 

I used them on the pig liver. They are amazingly efficient.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:24

 

Not. Saying. Anything.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:25

 

The laundry? The hoovering? The toxic fucking fumes? Remember when both of us passed out?

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:25

 

Mycroft sent an ambulance.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:25

 

~~He doesn't even~~

~~He shouldn't~~

~~The cameras bloody hell~~

Fuck it, whatever. I'll do the fucking chores, you fucking freeloader.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:25

 

You're twenty-five percent more prone to profanity when typing, did you know?

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 18:26

 

Now you're twenty-five percent _less_ prone if you use the verbal data from the past minute.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:27

 

Fifty.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:28

 

A hundred.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:29

 

Is John just sitting there, swearing at you?

 **guest** 14 February 18:30

  

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 18:30

 

Yes.

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:30

 

Fuck you, Sherlock.

 **John Watson** 14 February 18:30

 

 

**Are you two just sitting there, commenting on the same blog post?**

**Greg Lestrade**  14 February 18:32

 

Yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 18:33

 

John is sitting approximately half a metre away.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 18:33

 

He just threw a noodle at me.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  14 February 18:33

 

Plain penne pasta, darlings. Who knew the brilliant Sherlock Holmes had the palate of a teething two year old?

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:33

 

Oh, now he's the one throwing food at me.

 **John Watson**  14 February 18:34

 

Christ, you two get along like a house on fire.

 **Greg Lestrade**  14 February 18:51

 

Dangerous, destructive, and deadly? Sounds about right.

 **Sally Donovan**  14 February 19:12

 

Intense, imposing, and impressive xxx

 **Molly Hooper**  14 February 19:37

 

Amazing, astonishing, and awe-inspiring :)

 **Mrs. Hudson**  14 February 19:49

 

Steamy, sensual, and sexy.

 **guest** 14 February 20:00

 

All of the above.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 14 February 20:00

 

shitfuck

 **John Watson**  14 February 20:00

 

wait what

 **guest** 14 February 20:00

 

he posted that before he saw the comment

 **John Watson**  14 February 20:00

 

Screenshotted.

 **Greg Lestrade** 14 February 20:00

 

fuck

 **John Watson**  14 February 20:01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses. Might as well enjoy myself while I'm at it.


	7. Pretty Pretty Please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm atrociously impatient, so here's the next chapter. Be sure to read the previous one posted today :)

The blog of John H. Watson  
15 February  
**heyyy**

hi

\------

The blog of John H. Watson  
15 February  
**pretty pretty please**

please,,,, make me win this bloggy blogface..

 

**Comments**

Hey everyone. John is… pretty pissed. I called him out for a drink in honour of late Valentine’s Day. I may have called him a lightweight. He tried to prove me wrong but I’m pretty sure this proves me right more than anything else. Sorry.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:16

 

Also we may have severely underestimated the amount of alcohol in the special drinks.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:16

 

Lestrade, it would be best if you accompany John back to our flat.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:17

 

Yeah. I just gotta drag him away from the edible displays first.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:17

\------

The blog of John H. Watson  
15 February  
**untitled**

greg wont let me eat the strawberries

 

**Comments**

Sorry, mate.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:18

 

:(((

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:18

  

gregg the cabbie has a funny hat

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:19

 

his mustache is funny

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:19

 

we can secretly talk about him and he wont know

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:20

 

Try not to throw up in the back of the cab.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:20

 

sHERLOCK CAN i have chocolate covered strawberries

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:21

 

please i wont get mad about the bees

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:21

 

I’ll take your word on that.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:21

 

Sherlock, you shouldn’t take advantage…

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:21

 

its ok greg sherlock will make me strawberries right sherlock

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:21

 

Alright.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:22

 

yessss thank thank you i love you

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:22

 

do you know what greg said

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:22

 

John, you should probably put down your phone now.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:22

 

he said me and him were forever alone

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:22

 

~~but~~

Sorry, John. Sherlock, you better take care of him. He’s gonna have one fuck of a hangover.

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:22

 

I have the medicine prepared.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:23

 

John: “eww no not that it tastes like shit”

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:23

 

oh fuck

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:24

 

haha got it back

 **John Watson** 15 February 22:25

 

Sherlock, you owe me one.

 **Greg Lestrade** 15 February 22:25

 

Noted.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15 February 22:26


	8. Floofy

The blog of John H. Watson  
16 February  
**shit**

shit medicine tastes like shit

 

**Comments**

No shit.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 22:41

 

no yes shit

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:41

 

Yes, no shit. Sherlock, is John okay?

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 22:41

 

Fairly inebriated, thanks to you.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:42

 

Sorry. The “Alone Forever” was pretty much straight-up vodka with pink food colouring mixed in.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 22:42

 

Which, on second thought, sounds about right.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 22:42

 

sherlock look i dont even have to speak to talk to you

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:42

 

That’s nice, John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:43

 

...are you being patoning again?

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:43

 

Patronising. And yes, I am.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:43

 

:(((((

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:43

 

Ah, a quadruple chin.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:43

 

again!

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:44

 

if i ever go mute i can just do this to talk to you

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:44

 

no! dont talk! only here. for practise in case i go mute

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:44

 

And why would you ever go mute?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:44

 

what if you accidentally do something with your potions and i go mute

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:44

 

I would never purposely make you go mute.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:44

 

thats like the nicest thing i’ve ever heard you say

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:45

 

you know. sometimes youre not very nice

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:45

 

but youre nice sometimes

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:46

 

like sometimes. like right now

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:46

 

you smell nice. like honey.

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:46

 

The shampoo and conditioner in my hair.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:46

 

you have nice hair.

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:46

 

Thank you.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:46

 

its very floofy.

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:47

 

I don't think that’s a word.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:47

 

well it must be because your hair is

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:47

 

its also very curly. soft. and sprongy.

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:47

 

Sprongy.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:47

 

can i touch it

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:48

 

Why?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:48

 

cause i wanna

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:48

 

OK.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:48

 

:D

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:48

  

“Sprongy” and “floofy” are words, according to the Urban Dictionary.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:50

 

your face is interesting

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:50

 

Thanks.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:51

 

your eyes look like. water or something

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:51

 

oh they look like eyes

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:51

 

What a profound epiphany.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:51

 

again!!

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:51

 

i want to cut carrots with your cheekbones

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:51

 

That won’t be very effective.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:51

  

your smile is pretty

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:52

 

oh! its even prettier now

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:52

 

your laugh is pretty too

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:52

 

youre pretty too

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:52

 

did you know all my girlfriends are jealous of you

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:53

 

I did know that.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:53

 

wait what

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:53

 

wait am i drunk

 **John Watson**  16 February 22:53

 

i think i am drunk

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:53

 

Yes, you are drunk.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:53

 

i am

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:53

 

oh

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:53

 

thats ok

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:54

 

because i dont think sober me likes that im telling you all this

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:54

 

sober me is boring

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:54

 

sleepy

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:54

 

Sleep here for tonight. I don’t think you can stand up without vomiting.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:55

 

thank you darling

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:55

 

can i call you that

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:55

 

If you’d like to.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:55

 

i do

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:55

 

i like darling. it sounds nice. i thought about calling you honey before because you smell like honey but i dont like calling you honey. its too sicky. darling is good. also love is good too. can i call you love?

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:56

 

Go to sleep, John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:56

 

you didnt answer my question

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:56

 

Yes. You may call me anything you’d like.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:56

 

yay

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:56

  

sober me isnt going to like this

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:57

 

sherlock

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:57

 

when sober me gets all red

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:57

 

can you tell him to piss off

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:57

 

Gladly.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:57

 

im already calling you darling and love right

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:58

 

At the moment, yes.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:58

 

ok so can i hold your hand too

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:58

 

Do you really want to? Would _sober_ John want this?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:58

 

ugh sober john sober john is boring

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:58

 

but yes sober john wants to hold your hand

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:58

 

also kiss you but even drunk john is a little nervous about that

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:58

 

Greg. I’m not taking advantage. Sober John wants this, too.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:59

 

what why are you talking to greg

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:59

 

Nothing you should worry about.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:59

 

ok gonna hold your hand now

 **John Watson** 16 February 22:59

 

Go ahead.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 22:59

 

your hands are cold

 **John Watson**  16 February 22:59

 

The alcohol is making your hands warmer, thus making mine feel cooler than they actually are.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  16 February 23:00

 

ok fancy pants

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:00

 

sober john is going to be so jealous

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:01

 

i wish i was always drunk so i can hold your hand

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:01

 

Why can you only do that when you’re drunk?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:01

 

because

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:01

 

because

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:01

 

youre already married

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:01

 

John, you are a part of my work, now.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:01

 

wait what

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:02

 

am i married to you?!?!

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:02

 

Not officially.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:02

 

wait WHAT

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:02

 

did you just propose to me

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:02

 

you just proposed to me

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:03

 

oh my gosh

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:03

 

yes

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:03

 

can we have vanilla cake i hate chocolate

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:03

 

You have an incredible tendency to jump to conclusions when you’re drunk.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:03

 

what so youre not proposing

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:03

 

You've only just held my hand. I think I'd be taking things a little too quickly.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  16 February 23:04

 

oh ok

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:04

 

but you dont not want to propose right

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:04

 

Atrocious grammar.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  16 February 23:04

 

if i propose will you say yes please say yes

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:04

 

For the sake of sober John and his last shrivelled vestiges of dignity, I'm going to have to get you to go to sleep now.

 **Sherlock Holmes**  16 February 23:05

 

so many tos. and you said my grammar is atrocous

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:05

   

Sleep now, John.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:05

  

i dont want to sleep

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:07

 

Why not?

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:07

 

because when i wake up sober john wont do this cause youll get mad cause youre already married

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:08

 

We’re going in circles, here.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:08

 

no im lying down and youre sitting

 **John Watson**  16 February 23:08

 

John, I’m only going to say this once, so listen closely.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:09

 

okie

 **John Watson** 16 February 23:09

 

No. _Listen._

 **Sherlock Holmes** 16 February 23:09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh. The OOC is pretty strong in this one.  
> In for a penny, in for a pound.


	9. Honeyed Orange Marmalade

_Would you like to publish this blog post?_

John clicks _yes,_ closes his (beepingburningstickycracked) laptop, and says, “Well. That’s that.”

Sherlock hums. He's munching on a piece of toast with a thick layer of honey spread on top. "You've thought about this a lot." 

"Yep." John takes a bite of his own toast—orange marmalade—chews and swallows. "Never wrote it down anywhere, though—too risky. Kept it all in my head. Feels strange, to type it all out."

"And you posted it."

John nods, smiling. "I'm afraid it's all terribly, terribly, sentimental."

Sherlock's lips quirk up. "I don't mind," he murmurs, and suddenly the distance between them is much too far.

I love him, John thinks. _I love him, oh god, I do._

Sherlock’s eyes flick up to John and he smiles, a bright sunny grin that rivals the light streaming through the window.

“Come here,” he says.

Sherlock's hands leave trails of warmth on John's face, fleeting heat on his neck before carding through his hair, as he draws him into a kiss, slow and luxuriously languid. John licks his lips and tastes honey.

Sherlock pulls back, regarding John with a curious intent. He tilts his head up so that his mouth brushes against John’s nose. It tickles.

“Earlier this week," Sherlock says, "I said it wasn't possible for eyes to glitter. I am beginning to reconsider."

John raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You know you still can’t do it properly.” Sherlock brushes a thumb across John’s left eyebrow, making him roll his eyes.

“Shut up.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow (tosser). “Make me.”

John grins, and thoroughly succeeds.

There’s a buzzing in his brain, a pleasant, euphoric haze. Serendipity, drenched in sunlight and sweetness. Sherlock’s lips are impossibly soft against his own, which are dry and chapped from an accumulation of perpetual nervousness wear-and-tear and the scorching sands of Afghanistan—you didn’t get lip balm in the army.

“I can make you beeswax lip balm,” Sherlock says. “I could kiss it onto you.”

“I’d love that,” John says.

“I still have to make you chocolate covered strawberries.”

“Mm, looking forward to it.”

“I have to finish composing your song. I’m sure I can find the ending, now.”

Like he can't help himself, Sherlock closes in, sneaking in kisses between words.

"You can use my laptop. The password is 'stoptryingtoguessmypassword' with a capital S."

"Awh, _really?"_  

“And I’ll have to tell Lestrade to make a move; he can hold his liquor, and god knows how long it’ll take for _Mycroft_ to say something—”

“Wait, really? Mycroft? And Lestrade?”

“Pot, kettle.” Sherlock bumps their noses together.

John huffs. “Anyways—”

A resounding  _BANG_ explodes from the kitchen.

John freezes. Sherlock’s eyes widen.

“The cow leg,” he says.

John pauses. “The same cow leg—”

Sherlock springs into action, detangling himself from John. “I forgot, how did I forget, stupid, stupid, stupid—” He dashes for the kitchen.

At the doorway, he stops and turns to John.

“We need milk,” he says. “And eggs. And butter. And ketchup. And marmite. And everything that was in the refrigerator.” He flings a hand to the door. “Tesco’s, John! Go!”

John nods once, dazed, and runs out of the door.

He gets halfway down the street before realising he forgot his coat. And his keys. And his wallet.

He knocks on the door and is greeted by Sherlock, who has managed to get entirely covered in cow guts and blood in the span of two minutes.

"What are you doing?" John says.

"Cleaning up," Sherlock replies.

John frowns, because Sherlock had once "cleaned up" accidentally-released aphids by dumping ten thousand ladybugs on their living room and kitchen floor.

Before he can say anything, Sherlock thrusts a coat, a pair of keys, and a £20 note to John, and immediately shuts the door.

John blinks at the knocker, and then down at the coat in his arms. It’s not his.

John wanders around the aisles of Tesco wearing Sherlock's coat, smelling smoke, chemicals, and dry cleaner detergent, and tasting honeyed orange marmalade.


	10. Roll Credits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today. Be sure to read the one before :)

The blog of John H. Watson  
17 February

I’m sure you’ve all seen the posts (or, more importantly, the comments) from yesterday night.

It's true. I have been in love with Sherlock for many, many years. I’m happy to say that the feelings are reciprocated. According to Sherlock, he has been blatantly displaying his affection for me ever since we’ve met ("Is there such thing as the _opposite_ of confirmation bias? Because that's what you have.”) So, despite the (truly) fuck of a hangover I am nursing at the moment, I have to be grateful. After all, sober John can only say so much by himself.

The life we have together is—by the standards of anyone at all, I'm sure—not normal. Our idea of a fun night out involves jumping across rooftops and breaking into buildings. Murder Mondays instead of Movie Night Fridays. Cluedo leads to a personal reenactment of a suicide, Monopoly leads to calling Mycroft about property tax, and Twister leads to a bloody nose and a broken finger.

I tried to prank you, once, with salt in your tea, and a week later you made mine with laxatives. Your idea of redecorating involves graffiti and target practise in the living room. You can solve my morning crosswords in under sixty seconds, but you can't figure out how a Rubik's Cube works. You can't tell me the name of our Prime Minister with a gun to your head, but you can rattle off obscure facts about tobacco ash without missing a beat.

Sherlock Scott Holmes—I asked Mycroft, and it's much better than Hamish, that's for sure—you are quirky and enigmatic, eccentric and strange, (positively) inscrutable and (absolutely) infuriating—and I love it all. I treasure every moment you're in my life, I cherish every single second of _us._  I've had these thoughts for years. Nothing's changed. I have always loved you.

Just. Everything—everything, Sherlock. It's like I haven't been living, before I met you. Like everything before was just... negative space. White noise.

Christ, I can see you rolling your eyes from here.

I could write a thousand, a million more words, and it wouldn't hold a candle to how I feel.

Thank you everyone. I will be taking a short break from posting. Just for a while.

 

P.S. I won the blog-off.

 

**Comments**

I’ll take my ten quid, thank you very much.

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:14

 

FUCKYEAH

 **johnlockisrealbabes** 16 February 10:14

 

I never knew John was so sweet! xxx

 **Molly Hooper** 16 February 10:14

 

holy SHIT THIS IS HAPPENING

 **sherlockedforever**  16 February 10:14

 

*dies*

 **dead** 16 February 10:15

   

I knew you two wouldn't be needing another bedroom ;)

 **Mrs. Hudson**  16 February 10:15

 

I swear, any longer and I was going to call them out for eye sex.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:16

 

And now it won’t be just eyes. Lucky us.

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:16

 

Sherlock, don't worry about cases. I don't expect you to come today.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:16

 

Oh, but he will.

 **Sally Donovan**  16 February 10:16

 

For fuck's sake, Sally, really? 

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:16

 

Mrs. Hudson, go buy some earplugs while you’re ahead.

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:16

 

No worries. The walls are already soundproofed.

 **Mrs. Hudson** 16 February 10:16

 

My god, how much of this did Sherlock plan?

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:17

 

John Watson, you are one lucky, lucky man.

 **Jacob Sowersby**  16 February 10:17

 

Oh hey!! i asked Sherlock to send me the full video for you... sorry, I don't think he did :( xxxx

 **Molly Hooper**  16 February 10:17

 

That's alright!

 **Jacob Sowersby**  16 February 10:17 

 

<3 <3

 **Molly Hooper**  16 February 10:18

 

Molly. MOLLY. I am so sorry for ever doubting you.

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:18

 

john's hit count is gonna skyrocket!!

 **guest** 16 February 10:18

 

Looks like it's clear who's winning. He's probably still doing the experiment anyway.

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:18

 

And I don’t think Sherlock is going to get eight hours of sleep.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:18

 

Shagging Sherlock Holmes. It’s got such a nice ring to it.

 **guest**  16 February 10:18

 

Oh, he’ll be getting a much better ring very soon.

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:19

 

This is ridiculous. I thought Sherlock said sentiment was a defect. What's going on? Tell me this is a joke.

 **theimprobableone** 16 February 10:19

 

Quiet, Anderson, or I'll kick you from the division.

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:19

 

Oh my god, WHAT?

 **Sally Donovan**  16 February 10:20

 

Who's anderson

 **theimprobableone**  16 February 10:20

 

You're kidding me, right?

 **Sally Donovan**  16 February 10:20

 

I am a detective, you know... give me some credit?

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:20

 

Ew, really? I knew you admired Sherlock, but I didn't know you were that far up his arse.

 **Sally Donovan**  16 February 10:21

 

Sally, you too. Anderson, don't say anything about Sherlock and John when we see them again, and I won't mention it.

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:21

 

Anderson?

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:22

 

He's probably gone to delete all his comments. Too late, I already have screenshots.

 **Sally Donovan**  16 February 10:22

 

Best wishes, Sherlock and John. I will disengage the cameras.

 **Mycroft Holmes** 16 February 10:22

 

Hey, Mycroft, by the way. Sherlock showed me that picture.

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:22

 

I think you look fine in it.

 **Greg Lestrade**  16 February 10:23

 

Here we go again.

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:23

 

What?

 **Greg Lestrade** 16 February 10:23

 

New pool, anyone?

 **Sally Donovan** 16 February 10:23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am horrendously sick today. Yay.  
> This entire thing is pretty much just a hodgepodge of plot bunnies and crack.  
> Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
